


Silent

by TsarinaTorment



Series: Sensory Sunday [4]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, High School, Hurt Scott, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Scott Whump, SensorySunday, Sharing a Bed, Vomiting, platonic though - Freeform, pre-International Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 09:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24847294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment
Summary: They say you should ask for help when you need it, but what can you do except suffer in silence when asking for help will destroy your family?
Relationships: Scott Tracy & John Tracy
Series: Sensory Sunday [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778035
Comments: 11
Kudos: 28





	1. I - Scott

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: this chapter contains vomiting

The first thing he noticed was the vile mixture of copper, dirt and salt on his tongue. Not that any of those things were particularly pleasant by themselves, but when combined together they had him coughing and retching to get the taste out of his mouth.

Laughter sounded from somewhere above him, cruel and mocking. He wanted to ignore them, wait until they went away and left him to his misery, but they didn't. Instead, a hand fisted in his hair, yanking his head up to face his assailants.

"Not so cool now, are you?" The jeer was accompanied by spittle, landing on his face. "They called you a _hero_ , imagine that. This worthless lump of nothing, a _hero_?"

The leader's sneering proclamation was greeted by the cackles of his followers.

"Cry-baby!" one of them called out. His eyes were stinging, there was salt in his mouth and a tightness to his cheeks and he _knew_ he was crying. It horrified him. Not that he was crying, he was too numb for his pride to kick in for that, but that he had an audience.

That his audience was _them_.

He knew them, or at least he thought he had. Barely a week ago, he'd stood with them at _his_ back, his stalwart supports. The betrayal stung even worse than the throbbing in his ribs, tasted worse than the bitter combination of copper, dirt and salt in his mouth. Because _they_ had put it there.

And now, of all times. When he needed them the most.

"Wimp," they jeered. He didn't give them the satisfaction of seeing him try to wipe away the tears. Let them fall, he wasn't ashamed of them.

(He was. He was so, _so_ ashamed. Couldn't hold it together, a failure. The _fear_ if they worked out- no, don't think about it. No-one can know. _No-one can know._ )

"Such a mess," the leader sneered, releasing his hair the same moment a knee landed in his gut. Again.

Punch. Spit. Kick. Taunt. Knee.

They'd been at this for ages now. Time blurred; he didn't know how long for. Didn't _want_ to know how long for.

(Needed to know how long. Needed to know if they were getting suspicious. Needed to know if- no, don't think about it. No-one can know. _No-one can know._ )

"We'll give you a hand," they offered, the fake kindness _oozing_ from every pore. It reeked, false sincerity at its worst. They wouldn't help him. "Can't have the _hero_ looking a mess."

_Hero_. He wasn't a hero, the word _stung_ every time it dropped from their lips like dog's drool, disgusting saliva at its absolute worst.

They dragged him forwards, over more _dirt_ , mud in his mouth, congealing against his tongue. An open door, and then cool, cool tiles. Disgustingly cool; a tremor ran down his spine and he tried to recoil but a foot on his back had him pinned down, trying and failing to cough up all the _dirt_ without the rising bile coming to play.

He knew where he was. The tiles were unique, somehow unpleasant and slimy. White and terracotta in patterns that were probably supposed to be pretty, or at least aesthetically pleasing. No-one appreciated it. No-one ever would.

No-one spent long enough staring at them if they were happy enough to appreciate pretty patterns.

The trickle of water – no, not water, _liquid_ – and more laughter. Cruel, mocking.

Dread curled in his gut. He knew what they were planning. No, no, no, no. He tried to get up, try to flee, but the foot was still on his back and vice-like hands gripped his arms, right where they had before. Too tight, restraining, _no escape_. He fought harder but it was three on one, the fourth – the leader – jeering away in the same place the liquid was trickling, trickling down.

A kick in the ribs stunned him, his breathing hitching with more than just ever-falling tears, and the liquid _tinkle, tinkle_ stopped.

"All ready for the _hero_ ," the leader sneered, footsteps approaching him. A hand in his hair again, fisted tight, pulling strands from his scalp as he was wrenched forwards. He fought back, yanking his head from side to side and kicking out at air with his legs. They laughed again, delighting in his misery.

Eye level with a zip, except the zip was undone. He fought harder still, _please, no. Stop, please stop._

He couldn't say it out loud. It wouldn't work, would make it worse. He still had his pride, still wouldn't stoop to _begging_.

(If he begged they'd know something was wrong. They'd get suspicious, they'd start looking, they'd find- no, don't think about it. No-one can know. _No-one can know_.)

Resistance was futile. They won, his head being shoved down, down under until there was liquid and _couldn't breathe, mustn't breathe, bitter liquid on his tongue._

He heaved, tried to break free but too many of them, too strong. His head forced all the way down, until his shoulders couldn't fit and his neck was extended far too far. Couldn't breathe, drowning, _mustn't drown, must hold on._

Another kick in the ribs and he gasped, involuntarily letting the liquid in, burning his throat, bitter, bitter, just a hint of _warm_.

His body rejected it, suppressed bile would be suppressed no more and the contents of his lunch came back up, raking his throat raw as regurgitated food met with bitter, bitter liquid.

They laughed again, cruel and mocking, and then he was free, yanking his head up above the liquid and closing his eyes against lumps and chunks spilling from his lips with vile abandon as his body heaved, heaved, and heaved again.

"How were you ever a hero?" they asked, and then a door slammed shut and he was alone, all alone.

Alone to think of things he couldn't think of when other people were around. Alone to think of helpless brothers, _soonest is a week_.

Too much can happen in a week. Shifting priorities, supporters turning to tormentors when his priorities are no longer the same as theirs. They don't understand, they _can't_ understand _._ No-one can know. _No-one can know_.

Fourteen year old Scott Tracy gripped the side of the toilet and cried.


	2. II - Alan

Alan didn't understand any of it. He didn't understand why Mommy hadn't come home with them after the snow, why his big brothers made noises like they'd been hurt but didn't _look_ hurt. He didn't understand why it was Scotty always picking him up from playtime now.

Most of all, he didn't understand why he couldn't talk about Mommy. Scotty had said it lots of times, lots and _lots_ of times, until he'd pinky promised not to say that Mommy hadn't come home. He didn't know why Scotty didn't want him to say Mommy hadn't come home, but Scotty was always right so if Scotty said so, Alan would keep his promise.

"Alan, sweetie," Miss Matty said, crouching down with him as they watched all his friends go home with their Mommys and Daddys. "Your big brother said it's him picking you up again today, so can you help me look out for him?" He nodded proudly – of course he could look out for Scotty!

He bounced up and down on the spot, turning his head round to look, and then there!

"Scotty!" he yelled, running forwards with his arms out in a demand to be picked up. Scotty obeyed, swinging him into the air with a smile before settling him in his arms. Alan threw his arms around his neck, hugging him close, before scrunching his nose up. "Scotty, you smell."

He smelt like Scotty, but… too much of Scotty. It was too strong, and Alan leaned back as far as he could to get away from the smell.

"Sorry about that, Allie," Scotty said, and he was still smiling but his eyes were different and Alan didn't like that. "The deodorant can malfunctioned after gym and drenched me with the stuff. I'll wash it off when we get home, okay?"

"Mal-funk-tond?" Alan tried, sounding out the unfamiliar word. "Dwend?"

"Mal-func-tioned," Scotty sounded out. "Dren _ch_ ed. That means it was very naughty and covered me in smelly stuff like one of Gordon's pranks."

"Gordy's pranks?" Alan knew Gordy's pranks. Until Mommy hadn't come home, Gordon had started to let him help! But Gordy hadn't done any since the snow.

"Yes, like Gordon's pranks," Scotty repeated. "Now, how about we say thank you to Mrs Matthews for looking after you today and then go get Gordon?"

"Thank you, Miss Matty," he chorused obediently, smiling brightly at her and laughing when she smiled back.

"You're very welcome, Alan," she told him. "Be good for your brother okay?"

"Mhmm!" he nodded proudly, although still stayed leaning back away from the too-strong Scotty smell. He _liked_ Scotty's smell, but not this much of it.

"Thanks for looking after him," Scotty said to her, then made a noise a little like a snake. "Alan, I said I was sorry about the smell, but I can't carry you if you insist on leaning back. Either you hold on properly or you walk, kid."

Alan considered it for a moment. Scotty really was stinky, but he didn't want to walk either. He frowned, then grabbed hold of Scotty tightly, getting another snake noise and then a small laugh. He wanted to walk _less_. Besides, he knew Scotty had to collect Gordy before they could go home, and if Gordy saw Scotty wasn't carrying him, he'd get carried instead.

"That's better," Scott said. "Thanks for looking after him again today, Mrs Matthews." He started walking and Alan waved at Miss Matty over his shoulder, beaming as she waved back at him.

"It's not a problem; he's a delight to have. I'll see you tomorrow, Alan," she called, and he nodded enthusiastically.

"Bye bye!"

He kept waving until Scotty turned a corner and he couldn't see her any more, then twisted round so he could see where they were going. Mommy always made him walk home, but when Mommy picked him up they didn't have to get Gordy because she got him earlier. Alan didn't like staying longer at playtime, but Scotty said he had to finish school first and couldn't get him the same time Mommy would.

He didn't say _why_ Mommy wasn't picking him up any more, just like he didn't say why Mommy hadn't come home after the snow and his brothers all had invisible owchies.

Gordy was waiting quietly when they arrived. Alan ignored Scotty talking to Gordy's teacher in favour of sticking his tongue out at Gordy. Before Mommy didn't come home, Gordy would stick his tongue out back, but Gordy didn't do that now. Gordy was quiet and Alan didn't know why. He didn't like it; he wanted his noisy Gordy he helped with pranks when Mommy and Scotty weren't looking.

"I hope your Mom's better soon," he heard Gordy's teacher say quietly to Scotty. "Gordon's being very well behaved at the moment, which normally would be a cause for celebration if I didn't know the circumstances."

"You'll be regretting not celebrating it when Gordon's back to his tricks," Scotty said. His voice was funny; he laughed but it wasn't a Scotty-laugh. Alan didn't know what was wrong with it, but it wasn't _right_.

"I'm sure I will," the teacher said. "But I won't hold you up any longer. Goodbye, Gordon! I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye," Gordy said quietly, and Scotty took his hand.

Alan frowned to himself as they walked back home. Why had Gordy's teacher said Mommy wasn't better? Did Gordy's teacher know something about Mommy?

"Scotty, what did Gordy's teacher mean about Mommy being better soon?" he asked. "Is Mommy coming home soon?"

"Alan, what was our pinky promise?" Scotty asked, holding him tighter. Alan thought he pulled a funny face, but he then he was frowning and maybe Alan hadn't seen anything at all.

"Don't talk about Mommy," he muttered. "But Scotty!"

"We can't talk about it," Gordy said before Scotty answered. He was still quiet, and not-Gordy-like. "Scotty told you so."

"But… but…" Alan wanted to know. Was Mommy coming home soon? He felt Scotty's chest move as his biggest brother sighed.

"We'll talk at home, Allie," he said. "Not outside, okay?"

Scotty sounded sad. Alan took a deep breath, then coughed, because the Scotty-smell was still too strong and tasted weird on his tongue. A hand patted him on the back.

"Sorry, Allie," Scotty said. He still sounded sad, and Alan looked at his face to see his eyes were extra-shiny. Scotty's eyes were extra-shiny a lot since Mommy hadn't come home. Alan knew that meant he had an owchie somewhere.

"Scotty owchie?" he asked, patting Scotty's shoulders clumsily like Mommy used to do when she thought they were hiding an owchie. Alan didn't hide owchies from Mommy, but his big brothers did.

"I'm okay, Allie," he said. "Hold on properly, please."

Alan frowned, not convinced, but did as Scotty asked. He'd tell Johnny and Virgey when they got home that Scotty had an owchie. They weren't Mommy, but his big brothers could fix it.

Right?


	3. III - Virgil

Virgil was dutifully filling out his homework, both for a sense of normality and because John had Looked at him in a way that expected him to do it quietly and without a fuss, _please_ , when Scott and the little ones came home.

"We home now," Alan said the moment Scott let go of Gordon's hand to shut the front door. Scott sighed, and Virgil noticed how tired their big brother looked when he wasn't trying to smile for them – for Alan, who was still a baby and didn't _understand_.

"That we are, Allie," Scott said, leaning down and setting him on a chair so he could tug his shoes off of his feet.

"Why Gordy's teacher say Mommy ill?" Alan asked with all the innocence of a toddler. Virgil couldn't help flinching, and Gordon skulked right past him.

Scott cleared his throat meaningfully.

"Shoes, please, Gordon." The six year old immediately sat on the floor and began tugging them off half-heartedly. Virgil abandoned his homework to help him, even though Gordon didn't even acknowledge his help, just like he hadn't acknowledged _anything_ except basic instructions since they'd come home from their weekend trip with a Mom-shaped hole in their family.

"Scotty you said when we home!" Alan protested, kicking his feet. Scott let the glancing blows land with a tight face.

"The grown-ups can't know Mom's not here, Allie," he said. "So when Gordon's teacher asked why Mom's not picking him up from school this week, we said she was ill."

Free of his shoes, Gordon left the room quietly.

"So Mommy no ill?" Alan asked suspiciously. Scott shook his head and Virgil tried to concentrate on his homework rather than the conversation with minimal success.

"No, Allie," Scott said. "Mom's in heaven but it's a secret, okay? Remember our pinky promise?" He held out his little finger and after a moment of frowning concentration, Alan let him link with his own. "We don't talk about Mom."

Alan still didn't look convinced, but he nodded dubiously.

"Good kid," Scott smiled weakly. "Do you think you could sit quietly and do some colouring for me while I have that shower?"

Alan's face scrunched up again, this time in disgust, and he nodded – although when Scott went to help him from the chair again he recoiled.

"Scotty stinky," he groused. "Virgey help!"

Virgil's homework wasn't getting anywhere, and he scowled at the toddler.

"Why me?"

"Virgey no stinky," came the flattering answer, and he looked at Scott, who shrugged with another weak smile. All his smiles were weak at the moment, but it was still better than Virgil could do. Scott was strong like that.

"Sorry, Virgil. My deodorant exploded all over me after gym," he explained, and now that he mentioned it, there _was_ a rather strong scent coming from his big brother. "I promised Alan I'd have a shower to wash it off." He reached into his bag and pulled out what Virgil assumed was the can in question, shaking it and scowling. "Urgh, and I need to get another one. It's all empty."

"Well, unless you intend on making us all entirely nose-blind, go and have that shower, Scott," John chipped in, heading for Alan and picking him up. "I'll watch the tiny terror while you're gone." Closer to Scott than Virgil was, he also scrunched up his nose. "It might be empty now, but it smells like it was full before it exploded on you."

"Near enough," Scott admitted. "I bought it for-" He broke off, bending down to remove his own shoes and place them by the door. "Well, I'll go have that shower."

"Scotty owchie!" Alan declared suddenly, and he froze.

"Scott?" John asked, and Virgil squinted at his biggest brother.

"I'm fine," he waved off. "Nothing to worry about."

Virgil squinted harder.

"What did you see, Allie?" John asked, and the two year old looked thoughtful.

"Scotty cry," he decided after a moment. "After get Gordy."

"I'm fine," Scott repeated. "Just something Gordon's teacher said, that's all."

John's shoulders slumped, and Virgil with him. Scott took that as permission to leave, vanishing up the stairs. Virgil scrunched up his nose as his big brother walked past – that deodorant was _strong_. Gross.

"Scotty owchie!" Alan insisted, and John shook his head, setting him in the chair next to Virgil and giving him some paper and pencils.

"Not that sort of owchie, Allie," he said. "Scott's sad Mom's not here, too."

"Scotty no owchie?"

"No, Scott's just sad, like us," John assured him. "Here, why don't you do some drawing?"

Successfully distracted, Alan grabbed the pencils and started to make lines on the paper.

Virgil was ten, but Virgil wasn't stupid. It was a Wednesday and Scott normally had basketball practice on Wednesdays after school, but he'd said on Monday evening that he'd quit the team. Family came first, he said.

Virgil would bet his best paints that Scott would rather be playing basketball with his friends than babysitting tonight. John had even offered to pick up Alan and Gordon after school today, but Scott had refused.

"It's okay, I'd rather be home with you," he'd said. Virgil was fairly sure he'd been lying through his teeth.

The noise of running water started, Scott thankfully wasting no time at all in getting rid of the stink of too much deodorant, and John sighed.

"Can you keep an eye on Alan for a minute?" he asked. "I should check on Gordon."

Gordon would be sitting on his bed, cross-legged and staring at the wall. He wouldn't move until they announced dinner was ready, but Virgil nodded anyway. Maybe John would have better luck than he'd had the past two days.

From the look on his face when he came back ten minutes later, the shower water still running, John didn't have any more luck than him at getting a response from the unnaturally quiet blond. He didn't say anything though, not even a comment at Scott being in the shower longer than usual – then again, who knew how long it would take to get rid of all the stink?

Virgil watched him go back into the kitchen, where pots started clanking, before turning his attention back to his own homework. Maybe he could get it done by dinner and then John and Scott wouldn't need to worry about him as well.

Next to him, Alan's paper was gaining stick figures. From the spikey colours on their heads, and the dots in their faces, it was supposed to be the six of them – five brothers plus Mom.

He looked away quickly, blinking away sudden tears. Ten was too old to cry in front of his brothers. Even if it _hurt_.


	4. IV - John

Sleep didn't come easily for John. It never had done, not even before last weekend, but now he couldn't sleep at all until he knew all his brothers were safe in their rooms. That indicator was Scott; until Scott came into their room and settled down in bed, John could be sure that at least one brother was still up. As Scott would never go to bed until Virgil and Gordon were settled in the room next door, and Alan was asleep in his own bed, dragged in to their room almost as soon as they'd got home, his eventual stumble into bed was the sign John needed that the others were all as okay as they could be right now.

Even the stars had abandoned him. Sat in the window, a favourite seat of his, with a neglected book in his lap, there were no pinpricks of light shining through the darkness. Clouds had stayed gathered ever since the avalanche, blocking out both the sun and the stars. Somewhere beyond them was Dad, on a mission to the moon. John wondered if he knew, yet. Grandma had said she'd contact the space agency, but communications from Earth to the moon were difficult. It had always been a sore point between the older boys and their father – off _again_ for months, two year old Alan barely knew who his Daddy was – but now it was a gaping wound. John had always been fascinated by space, but he swore he wouldn't go until he knew he could keep in contact with his family. Always.

Equally as difficult as getting a message to the moon, apparently, was trying to travel when so snowed under even the cars couldn't move, and planes refused to fly. There was no snow _here,_ and if John never saw a snowflake again it would be too soon, but Grandma's state was snowed in. Grandma was adamant that she'd find her way to them soon, and John knew she was doing everything she could to move in with them, but it felt as though the world itself was conspiring against them. Every day that passed, Scott lived in greater and greater fear of uninvited visitors arriving on their doorstep. John refused to admit it to anyone except himself, but he did, too.

Alan snuffled in the corner, clutching his newly inherited but tatty and old teddy bear close in sleep. The two year old didn't understand what was going on, and John and Scott were both painfully aware that he was the most likely to bring the uninvited guests to their door with an innocent comment. From the conversation he'd heard when they'd got home, something Alan had said on the way home from playgroup had been too close for Scott's comfort today.

Scott hadn't been himself, either. _None_ of them were themselves, Gordon retreating into himself, Virgil pretending everything was fine but flinching at every reminder of Mom with tears in his eyes. John wasn't even sure what had happened to him; he could barely remember what life had been like before the avalanche now. Life and responsibility had ganged up on him and Scott all at once and now any free time he might have had was taken up with cooking and cleaning while Scott handled their younger brothers. But John didn't think all that – Mom's death, new responsibilities, three brothers in need of assurance and a sense of normality where there was none to be had – was the all that was preying on Scott's mind. Not after Alan's loud complaints about Scott being stinky and Scott's perfectly reasonable explanation. Perfectly reasonable, except for one thing.

Scott didn't _have_ gym on Wednesdays. John knew his brother's timetable, even if Scott didn't know that. No gym on Wednesdays, just after-school basketball he'd quit at the start of the week.

Whatever had driven him to empty an entire can of deodorant over himself, it wasn't gym, and John highly doubted it was an accident, either. But he knew Scott wouldn't talk to him about it, even though his eyes had been red when he'd come out of his too-long shower and he'd caught the smallest glimpse of something dark on his arm when his sleeve had ridden up during dinner. Alan had jumped at him from his chair after they'd eaten, as per usual, and normally Scott could catch him with ease. This time, there'd been the flicker of pain as Alan had collided with him, before he'd covered it up with some light-hearted scolding for being reckless.

John didn't like the theory forming in his mind, and knew that tonight he wouldn't sleep until he put it to rest, one way or the other.

It was midnight by the time Scott stumbled into the room, assuring him that Virgil and Gordon were both asleep and _put that book away and go to bed now, John._ John hadn't turned a page all evening, but dutifully obeyed, placing the bookmark back in the same place he'd retrieved it from hours earlier and setting the book on the bedside table before sliding underneath his covers and closing his eyes.

Waiting.

He heard Scott pad over lightly to check on Alan, making sure he really was asleep, before his big brother finally shuffled into bed himself, turning the lights off. He'd shared a room with Scott for years, knew how his breathing shifted as he fell asleep. The shift happened, and he counted the minutes in his head. Five of them, and then he couldn't wait any more, the burning need to _know_ slipping him out of bed, palming his under-the-covers reading light (a present from Scott, two years ago, after he'd got fed up of John insisting on having a light on to read when he just wanted to sleep; Mom had laughed and told him he still wasn't allowed to read all night) from under his pillow and slipping across the room to Scott's bed.

Scott was a light sleeper, and John shouldn't be doing this, but he needed to _know_. The comforter folded back easily, and holding his breath John reached for the hem of his brother's top, lifting it up just enough to see his fears realised.

Mottled bruising splattered across his torso, deeper and darker in some places than others. It was painfully familiar – John had had the same, last year, until Scott found him out in a similar way and dragged names out of a tearful eleven year old in the middle of the night. They'd both been in the same school then; Scott had made it perfectly clear the next day that _anyone_ who so much as touched a hair on any of his brothers' heads would be dealing with him and his friends, who would be delighted to return it with interest.

John didn't have bruises any more, but now Scott had moved up into the world of high school and there was no big brother to make fearless challenges on _his_ behalf.

A hand caught his wrist.

"Go back to bed," Scott said flatly, tugging at his arm lightly until he let go. The fabric fluttered back down, hiding the incriminating evidence again.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" John asked instead, keeping his voice down. The last thing they needed was for any of their brothers to wake, especially Alan.

Scott scoffed, but John's reading light caught pain in his eyes.

"Tell who?" he demanded, sitting up and wincing as he did so. John didn't think it was a good thing that Scott hadn't even attempted denial first. Scott _always_ denied it when things were wrong and he wasn't okay. Then again, none of them were okay. None of them would be okay for a long time. "A teacher? They'd just try to call Mom, and when they don't get through they'll be breaking down the goddamn door. Grandma? She can't get here any damn faster. _Dad_? He's not even on the fucking planet!"

"Shhh!" John hissed as his voice get louder. A sleepy snuffle came from the corner of the room, and they both froze. It was several long minutes of silence before they relaxed, assured that Alan hadn't woken up after all. "Why didn't you tell _me_?"

He knew why. It was the same reason he wouldn't tell a teacher, wouldn't risk any adults realising that there was a family of five children living without a single guardian in the state. Scott had been trying to _protect_ him, projecting an air of invulnerable big brother so John would relax and forget the very real fear social services might catch a whiff of abandoned children.

Scott wouldn't admit that, of course.

"What could you do about it?" he demanded instead, remembering this time to keep his voice down. "We don't even go to the same school, and even if we did, we can't draw attention to ourselves!"

"I can handle Alan so he's not kicking you in your already busted ribs whenever you pick him up," John retorted. "I can cover for you while you get pain killers. Just because I can't help you outside doesn't mean I can't help you at home, Scott."

"I can't ask that of you," Scott protested, and John rolled his eyes.

"I'm offering," he pointed out. "You _have_ taken some pain killers, right?"

"How do you think I got all of two seconds sleep before a pesky little brother stripped my bedclothes?" Scott grouched. "Yes, I took some tylenol when I was in the shower."

"Cold compress?" John asked, and Scott rolled his eyes.

"Right little rescue scout you are, huh," he grumbled. He knew as well as John they'd had a first aid session only two meetings ago. It felt like two lifetimes ago. "Shower." John reached for his top again, only to get batted away. "It's _fine_ , John. Stop fussing and go back to bed."

John scowled at him.

"We talk about this now, or we talk about this at breakfast with Virgil, Gordon and Alan listening in," he promised. From the flash of anger in blue eyes, it was only the fact that Alan was sleeping in the same room that restrained Scott from exploding at him.

"What's there to talk about?" he ground out instead.

"Who." John stated. "How long. Why _now_." The glare he got promised retribution later, but less than a week ago John had watched a wall of snow crush a skiing hut with his mother inside. Maybe Scott's glares would be scary again one day, but their ski trip from hell was still too raw.

"You don't know them," Scott muttered after a moment, and John knew he wouldn't have caved if he wasn't also raw from the loss of their Mom, and the responsibility crushing his shoulders. "I thought they were my friends, until yesterday. Apparently they only liked me because the team kept winning whenever I played."

"They're beating you up because you quit the team?" John wished he was surprised, but while sport had never been _his_ thing, enough of his schoolmates were sport-mad that he could see them doing exactly that. Scott didn't answer, but his eyes gleamed with tears in the faint light.

It made John angry. Who measured friendship by how successful someone was at a sport? Who dropped their friend right when they were needed most? Even if they didn't _know_ what was wrong, surely a friend would accept a change in hobbies?

He might not _know_ them, but these unknown so-called _friends_ of Scott were going to go _down_. How _dare_ they make his brother cry?

The tears Scott turned his head away to hide could have just been grief about their Mom, but given the context of their conversation, John knew better. It was also the sting of betrayal, and he wasn't going to stand for it.

"Scott," he said, muscling his way onto his brother's bed and tugging gently but determinedly on his wrist until he caved and lay down. "As soon as Grandma's here, you have to tell her."

Stony silence greeted him, and he pulled the comforter over the pair of them, nudging insistently at Scott until he had enough room to be comfortable. "If you don't, I will."

"Don't you dare," Scott lashed back, rolling on his side to face away from John. "Get out of my bed."

"You didn't let _me_ suffer in silence," John reminded him, staying where he was. He wasn't as clingy as his brothers, but right now he didn't _want_ his own bed. "You're right, even when we do have a guardian here, I can't stand in front of you and threaten everyone that wants to hurt you. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stand by and let it happen. Grandma will do something."

"Grandma has the four of you to worry about," Scott mumbled, and John rolled his eyes. Whoever said older was wiser had clearly never met his older brother.

"Grandma has _five_ grandsons and she'll worry about us all," he reminded him. "She'll find out somehow, even if we don't say anything. You know she will, and then she'll be sad you didn't tell her straight away."

Scott groaned in defeat, then rolled back over with another, pained, groan. How long did Tylenol last?

"I know," he muttered, wiping at his eyes with his sleeves. "I know."

John shuffled a little closer, pressing their shoulders together. Once they got bigger – Scott was already hitting a growth spurt – they wouldn't be able to fit easily on the same bed, but for now, they both fit well enough side-by-side. After a moment, Scott's head rested against his on the pillow, and fingers tangled with his own where their arms were pressed together.

"We'll survive," Scott muttered, squeezing lightly. John nodded, and squeezed back. "Grandma will be here soon."

It was both a promise and a plea.


	5. V - Gordon

"Hey, Tracy!"

Gordon would have ignored the call if his brother's grip on his hand hadn't tightened, and then pulled him to a stop. In front of them were four older boys, probably Scott's age, blocking the sidewalk.

"What are you doing with _those_?" the one at the front asked. He was tall, if not quite as tall as Scott, and blond hair was short-cropped. "Running a creche?" The other guys sniggered, and something stirred in Gordon's tummy for the first time since Mommy had gone to heaven. He wasn't entirely sure what was happening, but he didn't think the boys were Scott's friends.

"You know I have brothers, Wilkinson," Scott said. His grip on Gordon's hand was tighter still, keeping him close by his side. Gordon squinted at the boys, wondering what they were doing to make Scott so clingy.

"Who them, Scotty?" Alan asked, from his perch in Scott's arms.

Scott didn't correct Alan – _who are they_ – like he used to. Instead he sighed.

"They go to my school, Allie," he explained. "We have classes together."

"And you're going the wrong way, Tracy," the leader one said. "Our school's that way." He pointed back the way they'd come, and that feeling in Gordon's tummy got stronger.

" _My_ school is this way," he snapped. He didn't like these boys. He started walking forwards again, determined to push past them, but Scott hadn't moved and he was tugged back to a stop. "Scott, I'll be late!"

He didn't care about being late, never had done and cared even _less_ now Mommy wasn't around to tell him he shouldn't be, but he wanted to get away from these mean boys. And they _were_ mean, Gordon could tell.

He might only be six, but he knew Scott only held him tightly when he was scared. Scared he might run into the road, scared he was hurt, scared because Mommy was buried.

He wasn't trying to get away from Scott, he wasn't hurt, Mommy wasn't here. Gordon wasn't doing anything that might scare Scott, which meant it wasn't Gordon. That meant it was these boys.

"We'll make your apologies to Teach for being late, yeah?" the leader said after a moment. "Take your time, Tracy; got to make sure the babies get to their school safely, after all." He didn't sound like he cared whether or not Gordon and Alan were safe.

"I won't be late," Scott said bluntly, finally starting to walk forwards again as the three boys behind the one doing all the talking moved out of the way. "School doesn't start for half an hour."

The leader stayed where he was, leaning into Scott as they passed.

"You _will_ be," he grinned quietly. Gordon didn't like that grin at all. "See you at school, Tracy!" He walked off, catching up with his friends and sharing a laugh with them as they headed towards the big school Scott went to.

Scott's grip on his hand stayed tight.

"Bad boys," Alan said after a moment. "No like."

"It's okay, Allie," Scott said after a moment. "They're not my friends." Gordon squinted up at him, and tugged on his hand.

"Too tight, Scott," he complained. "Let go."

"Sorry." Scott sounded sorry, but he still didn't let go until they reached Gordon's school. "Be good again today, okay, Gordon? I'll see you again after school." He crouched down for a hug, Alan in the way as always – Mommy always made Alan walk, but Scott didn't. Gordon thought that was another sign that he was scared, but didn't know why – maybe that Alan would fall over? Alan only fell over if he ran too fast.

He hugged Scott back, though, then walked over to his teacher, who greeted him with a big smile he didn't believe she meant at all.

No-one should be _smiling_ right now.

Scott wasn't smiling later when he came back after school, carrying Alan again. Part of Gordon wondered if Scott even went to his own school or if he just stayed with Alan all day. There was a bruise on his face, which his teacher fussed over.

"I just tripped at school today," Scott told her, giving Gordon a smile as he took hold of his hand. "Forgot about the small step going into the science lab."

"Don't forget to put some ice on it," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow, Gordon."

"Bye bye," he muttered. Scott's hold on his hand was tight as they left.

Scott was scared again. Or maybe he'd been scared all day. Gordon wanted to ask what was scary, but he knew Scott would say he wasn't scared, or he'd lie about not wanting Gordon to run off.

Scott didn't know Gordon could tell when he lied. Gordon used to play pranks, with Mommy, and the best prankers knew how to lie – so Gordon had watched all his brothers to learn how to lie. Scott was lying a lot now – to his teacher, about Mommy, about school.

He'd heard the story about the exploding can yesterday. He'd heard John and Scott having a quiet talk last night – too quiet to hear what they were saying, but it wasn't happy. Something was happening to Scott and he was pretending it wasn't.

"Was it the boys from this morning?" he asked. Scott jumped.

"Was what them, Gordon?" he asked. "Alan, no, don't do that." Gordon's little brother was exploring the bruise on Scott's face with his fingers.

"You didn't trip," he accused. "They pushed." Scott's eyes widened.

" _No_ ," he said, just a little too loudly. "I just tripped, Gordon. Don't go making up stories about other people. You know that's not nice."

"Pushing people isn't nice," he pointed out, and Scott sighed.

"They didn't push me," he said, and Gordon squinted, because that wasn't a lie, but what he'd said to his teacher _had_ been.

Just because he could tell when Scott was lying didn't mean he knew what the truth was, and he decided to find out what was going on.

He turned to John when they got home, but before he could say anything, John was taking Alan off of Scott and putting him on the chair to take his shoes off. Since Mommy had gone, Gordon had always tried to be alone at home, ignoring his brothers as they tried to play happy families.

Today, he had a mystery to solve first and he sat down on the floor, tugging off his shoes without prompting.

"Go put ice on that," John said to Scott, talking over Virgil asking what had happened and trying to get a look at the bruise.

"Scotty trip!" Alan answered gleefully as Scott disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a green packet with pictures of peas on it held to his cheek.

"I can see that, Alan," John said, and Gordon squinted at him, remembering quiet voices in the night. John _knew_. But John wasn't doing anything about it!

The phone rang, and Scott hurried to answer it.

"Hello, Grandma," he said after a moment. "We're okay… Do you know when you'll get here… That's okay… yes… We're managing… No, I'm not lying… I promise, Grandma… We'll be fine until you get here… _Yes_ , Grandma… No, Grandma…"

Gordon had heard the same one-sided conversation every night that week, but this was the first time he'd been in the room to see Scott's face. He was clutching the bag to his face tightly, and not smiling at all.

And he was lying.

This time, Gordon knew what he was lying about. They weren't fine. They weren't happy, and they needed Grandma. He loved Scott, but it was always Mommy or Grandma that could get the thoughts to leave his head long enough to fall asleep. Having his biggest brother sit with him wasn't the _same_.

The phone got passed from brother to brother, and for the first time, Gordon accepted it when it was his turn.

"Hello Grandma," he said quietly.

"Gordon! I was beginning to think your brothers were hiding you from your Grandma!" she said. She sounded happy to hear him, and Gordon was happy to hear her, too.

"They would have to catch me first," he said, curling up where he was, the arm not holding the phone wrapped around his knees. "You know they can't catch me." She laughed. It sounded weird, and not just because it was over the phone.

Grandma wasn't happy either.

"Well you're quite the slippery little fish, aren't you?" she reminded him. "So, how's school been for my favourite fish?"

He told her everything – not that there was much _to_ say. No pranks, no getting in trouble. Scott had begged him to behave until Grandma came. "Don't give the school any reason to try and call Mom, please, Gordon." He hadn't said why, but Gordon had overheard him telling Virgil the same thing, and he'd told _Virgil_ that if someone tried to call Mommy, they'd end up taking them all away from each other.

Gordon didn't want to lose any of his brothers, not ever and definitely not with Mommy only just gone. He'd sat on all his prank ideas, done his work, and pretended Scott wasn't lying when he explained that "Mom's ill, so I'll be the one picking Gordon up but I don't finish school for another hour so can Gordon stay with the after-school club?" The after-school club was boring if he wasn't allowed to play pranks.

"I'll be there soon, little fish," Grandma promised him once he'd finished. Over the phone, he couldn't tell if she was lying. "Then you can play your pranks again – but don't tell Scott I said that, okay? That's our little secret?"

He agreed, then gave the phone back to Scott, who'd lost the green bag. His bruise didn't look any better, and Gordon said so, to _ssshhh_ -ing from Scott.

Alan was allowed to talk into the phone as long as Scott held it for him, and Gordon was about to leave when he heard his little brother say "Scotty trip today!" and Scott hurriedly putting the phone up to his own ear.

Gordon thought there was no way Scott would lie to _Grandma_ , but he said the same things he'd said to the teacher about tripping and science. Lies, and he saw John frowning, too. Scott glared back at John, and he shook his head before going into the kitchen to start on dinner.

Long after the phone call was over, Gordon kept watching Scott. He wanted to know what was really going on.


	6. VI - Sally

Snow clearly had it in for the Tracy family. Not only did it see fit to steal a mother from her five young sons – and yes, fourteen counted as young, no matter what Scott tried to claim – but it _also_ saw fit to keep Sally Tracy away from those same five boys for a further five painful days.

The _instant_ the snow receded enough for her to _safely_ drive (no matter how desperate she was, she had enough sense not to take foolhardy risks – better take a bit longer to get there than never arrive and crush the boys further than they already had been), she was in her already packed car and burning tarmac.

It meant driving through the night, as the conditions had not deigned to be in her favour until late evening, but she pulled into the desolate driveway of her son's home just in time to catch sight of five very sorry-looking boys traipsing out the front door. Well, technically four boys traipsing while a fifth was carried by his biggest brother.

"Grandma!" If asked to predict which of her five grandsons would leap at her in greeting, her money would have been on one of the younger three. Gordon was most likely, with Virgil hot on his heels and Alan delayed only by the fact his legs were much shorter than his brothers'. Scott was too busy trying to be grown up now, much like his own father upon reaching the lofty _teenage_ years, and John had always been the most withdrawn of the five.

A ginger head colliding with her chest as the withdrawn, quiet, John outstripped the rest of his brothers in greeting was beyond surprising, but also concerning. Grief did peculiar things, but she wouldn't have thought it would make John more extroverted, of all things. The rest of her grandsons were hot on his tail – including Scott, whose lofty teenage airs were in visible tatters – and for several minutes she did nothing except embrace these precious children. There were tears from all parties, and when they eventually stepped back from their messy group hug in the driveway she surveyed all of them.

They were all ready to go to school, sporting various backpacks and satchels, and Sally immediately ushered them all back inside.

"Your bags?" John asked her, and she shushed him.

"I can deal with those later," she said. "We need to get you boys to school, and I need to talk to each of your schools." None of the boys looked particularly overjoyed at the news they still had to go to school, and part of her wished she'd been five minutes later arriving.

Only a small part, though. Most important was _seeing_ the five of them with her own eyes.

"Can I play pranks again?" Gordon asked. "I don't want to go to school if I can't." It was a bad idea – permission for pranks at school should _never_ be given, but if it would convince him to go, then she agreed.

"But nothing too outrageous," she warned.

" _Why_ do we have to go to school?" Virgil asked, sounding particularly put-out at the idea.

"Because it's a Friday, dear," she told him. "And I need to talk to all of your teachers."

"About Mommy?" Alan asked around a mouthful of fist, which she noticed Scott had been trying to silently coax out of his mouth without success. Scott himself had an impressive bruise on his face, which she fully intended on getting answers about. Similarly, she was quite curious about the foot kicking at Scott less surreptitiously than John probably intended, and the silent conversation passing between the two eldest boys.

"Yes, Alan," she said, deciding to deal with the toddler first. "Now, how about you take your hand out of your mouth like Scotty wants you to?" The two year old narrowed his eyes at her, clearly judging whether or not he should obey. She gave him her Grandma Isn't Going To Ask Again Young Man Look, and he slowly let his brother remove the hand and wipe the saliva off on his own shirt.

The looks being exchanged between Scott and John got more and more intense – less conversation, more argument – and she decided to tackle that next.

"Do you have something to say, boys?" They both froze, before opening their mouths in perfect unison.

"No-"

" _Yes_ , Scott-"

"-not important-"

"-urgent-"

She raised a hand and both of them stopped.

"Does it have something to do with Scott's new facial feature?" she asked, and Scott immediately looked away, as though that wasn't an answer in itself.

"Hey, Alan," John said, turning to his youngest brother and extracting him from Scott's grip before the teenager realised what was happening. "Go play with Virgil and Gordon for a few minutes, okay?"

"John-"

"Grandma!" Alan sulked, drowning out whatever Scott was going to say. Immediately, she realised that whatever John wanted to tell her – and Scott _didn't_ – it was something the youngest three didn't know about.

"Virgil, be a dear and look after your younger brothers for a couple of minutes, please," she said, turning to the middle child, who was looking at his older brothers in open suspicion.

"But-"

"I just need to talk to Scott and John for a minute," she said. "I won't be long, I promise." Big brown eyes studied her, and then he slid off of his chair to take Alan off of John's hands. "Thank you," she said, before turning her attention back to the eldest. "Shall we take this to the sitting room, boys?"

John all but dragged Scott through the doorway, and after one last look at the youngest three, who were all pouting at her, she followed.

"What happened?" she asked once they were out of earshot. "John?" He looked at Scott, who was studiously avoiding both of their eyes.

"Scott should tell you," he said, nudging his big brother. Scott didn't say anything, and John frowned. "You _promised_ , Scott."

"When you said 'as soon as' I didn't think you meant _the moment she walked through the door,_ " Scott snapped. John didn't say anything back, but did put his arm around his brother's shoulders in a silent gesture of support that did nothing to quell Sally's rising panic. What had happened _now_?

"Scott?" she prompted, and he shuffled in place, looking down at the carpet. It was thin and worn from years of habitation and several young boys.

"I…" he started, before trailing off. "They… I…" His hand strayed to the bruise on his face and he winced before shooting John a pleading look that a week ago he would _never_ have used. His younger brother sighed, but picked up the narrative with three words that froze her heart.

"Scott's being bullied."

"What?" The word escaped her unbidden as she immediately closed the gap between them, moving Scott's hand out of the way to get a better look at the bruise. He closed his eyes, a faint flush filling his cheeks. "How long?"

"Monday," Scott muttered, and her heart shattered. The day after Lucille- Her eldest grandson had found himself parentless and thrust into a position of responsibility he was far too young for, and his schoolmates started picking on him at the same time?

She enfolded him into her arms, and he didn't resist.

"Oh, Scotty," she murmured. He was almost as tall as her now – boys grew _fast_ and she'd never been particularly tall herself – but he didn't seem it right then. Screw the snow, she should have been here _so much sooner_. Scott should _never_ have had to carry all that weight, even if it was only for a few days. "John, can you make sure your brothers are ready to leave? We'll have to take the car if you're going to be remotely on time."

He left the room with a suspicious look directed her way, and she released Scott.

"I am so proud of you," she told him, wiping away the tears clinging to his lashes gently with her thumbs. "You've done so well." _While I failed you._

No more. She was _done_ failing her grandsons, and even though she wanted nothing more than to keep them all home from school, now she was here there were some things that needed dealing with – without five grandsons vying for her attention. It was the weekend tomorrow, and she had no intention of letting _any_ of them out of her sight then.

"Let's get your brothers off to school," she said out loud, and if Scott had any thoughts on the matter, he didn't say them, wiping his eyes on his sleeve before heading out to the car, where John had successfully corralled the other three.

John and Virgil were first to be dropped off, Scott left in the car with the youngest two as she hurried through the bureaucratic hoops required to change their emergency contact from Lucille to her, and quietly informed the staff of the tragedy.

It was the same story at Gordon's school, and then again at Alan's playgroup, and then it was on to the biggest challenge – Scott's school. After the horrific revelation of that morning, she had more than one thing to discuss with the faculty, and this time she was going straight to the top.

"Where's the principle's office?" she asked Scott, and when he started to direct her, grabbing his bag in a clear intention to go to class, she shook her head. "No, don't tell me. Show me." The look he gave her was pleading, and her heart ached for him, but this was ending _now_.

The secretary was quick to let her in – apparently a grandmother storming the school was worth a principle's time without too much fuss, especially with her grandson in tow – and Sally found herself in the principle's office without much fanfare. Good. There was a time and a place to make a scene, and while her son might disagree, in the corridor where any nosy student could see was _not_ it. Scott was not going to have an additional target painted on his back because of her.

"Mrs Tracy," the principle – a Mr Atkins, if she recalled correctly – greeted her. "Mr Tracy, please, have a seat." Scott hesitated, perhaps at being directly addressed, and Sally ushered him down before taking her own seat. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this sudden meeting?"

"My daughter-in-law sadly passed away earlier this week," she began, grasping hold of Scott's hand before he could retreat, or flee the office entirely. Normally, she would never consider either of those things to be a typical Scott reaction, but there was nothing _normal_ about their situation. "I was originally coming here to inform the school of this fact and have Scott's emergency contact amended accordingly," she continued after the socially-expected condolences were uttered. "However, I have since been made aware by my grandsons that Scott has also found himself at the unkind mercy of his fellow students this past week. This school has an anti-bullying policy, yes?"

"Absolutely," he agreed, and from the set of his jaw, Sally could see that it was one he planned on reinforcing. Good, that made her job much easier.

"Scott will not be attending school today," she continued, ignoring the startled jerk of the hand she was still holding. "I don't yet know the extent of injury past the obvious" – she drew the man's attention to Scott's face – "thanks to my grandsons springing this revelation on me not half an hour ago, and until I'm satisfied that both the culprits have been suitably punished and that he is not injured _beyond_ that, he will be enrolling in your online classes instead of attending campus."

"But Grandma-" Scott protested, but she quelled him with a Look. She hadn't missed his flinch at the mention of other injuries.

"I trust there are no issues with this?" she asked Mr Atkins, who shook his head.

"None at all, Mrs Tracy. I'll be sure to inform his teachers of the change. However, I will need the names of the culprits?" Both adults turned to look at Scott, who blanched.

"I-" he started. Stopped. Shook his head.

"Scott?" she coaxed.

"They know about Gordon and Alan," he muttered, voice shaking.

"Have they threatened them?" He shook his head.

"But they saw them… If they think I ratted them out…" Sally was surprised if she'd still have a heart _left_ by the end of the morning, the way it kept breaking into smaller and smaller pieces.

"They won't get near them," she promised him. "I won't let them, even if it means I have to drive them to school every day instead of walking. No-one's going to hurt your brothers."

He bit his lip, an expression more at home on his six year old brother than the teenager next to her. She squeezed his hand reassuringly, and smiled when he looked at her. _You can do this, kid_.

"Wilkinson," spilled out of his mouth, the name stumbling over itself. "James Wilkinson. Mike Wilmby. Harry Greenwood. George Bulington. Wilkinson's the leader."

Sally knew some of those names. She was sure those were the names of the boys he used to walk to school with – his _friends_.

Why was everything she learnt just more bad news?

"Is that all of them?" Mr Atkins asked. She was pleased to see all four names on the tablet in front of him.

"Yessir," Scott nodded. He was glancing around the room as if waiting for one or more of the boys to leap out at him, but his back was straighter than when he'd first entered the room.

"Is it all physical?" the principle continued. "Any name calling, stealing..?" Scott shook his head.

"Just… _physical_." It sounded like he wanted to say another word, but held himself back. Sally noticed he had brought an arm to wrap around his stomach defensively. Mr Atkins noted that down, then let his stylus fall to the desk.

"Is there anything else we should know?" he asked gently, and Scott shook his head. "If you think of anything else, please get in touch. The more we know, the more effectively we'll be able to deal with it." He paused, clearly giving her grandson a chance to 'remember' anything else of importance, but Scott remained silent. "Mrs Tracy, can I help you with anything else?"

"I think that's all for now," she said. "Scott will start his online classes on Monday; I trust everything will be set up by then?"

"It will, Mrs Tracy. I will keep in touch – either directly or via my secretary – regarding the culprits," he assured her, and after exchanging a few more required pleasantries she ushered her eldest grandson from the room, and back towards the car.

Scott stayed silent until they got home, until they were back in the sitting room, and she wrapped her arm around his shoulders much like John had done earlier.

"Scotty?" she prompted, and he sighed.

"Did you have to pull me out of school?" he muttered, although she noticed he wasn't complaining about it like he would have been if there had been an audience.

"I didn't pull you out," she corrected him. "You have the same teachers, you'll just be interacting with them _online_ until I'm happy you're safe to go back into the classroom." She didn't mention that if Mr Atkins had been any _less_ proactive about the situation, then she'd be hunting down a brand new school for him right then and there. Something told her Scott wouldn't want to hear that.

"It feels like I'm running away," he admitted, and she shook her head.

"You're not a coward, Scotty. You're a boy who's had the worst week of his life – a much worse week than those boys could possibly understand – and needs to heal." After Lucille, she needed to know her grandsons were _safe_ , in every meaning of the word.

"Is there a difference?" he muttered, but he did at least rest his head against her shoulder in a surrender.

"A big one." She eyed his stomach, hidden by his shirt. "Now, how about you take that shirt off and show me what those horrible children have done to you?"

He flinched, curling up on himself slightly, and she tutted.

"Either you let Doctor Grandma look, or we're going straight to the doctors for another doctor to have a gander," she told him firmly. "Which is it going to be?" The more he flinched, the more convinced she became that there was far more than the obvious evidence on his face.

It turned out Scott did, in fact, still have enough pride not to let random strangers poke and prod at him, even though he was still reluctant to remove the article of clothing. When he did, however, Sally knew immediately that Mr Atkins would be hearing from her again sooner than perhaps he'd expected.

Scott's entire torso was black and blue and purple, bruises of varying ages overlapping each other in a horrifying story of the week. Matching bruises circled his upper arms, suspiciously hand-shaped, with little imagination required to identify the reasoning behind them, and when she got him to turn around, there were boot-shaped marks on his back, as well.

How _dare_ they do this to her grandson?

She pressed a feather-light hand to the bruising on his torso, noticing the sharp intake of breath with a frown.

"Does it hurt?" she asked. Scott wouldn't look her in the eye. "Scott?"

"Not after some tylenol," he mumbled. She frowned, and probed gently to subtle winces and, in one particularly alarming case, a whimper.

Yes, Mr Atkins would be hearing from her again very soon. Once they got back from the hospital.


	7. VII - Jeff

His return to Earth was nothing like the previous times. Triumph, shared laughter and in jokes with his best friend in the universe (barring the one he had married, of course) were barely a distant memory as the space shuttle docked and Jeff stumbled out of it with all the grace of a fawn on ice.

There was no-one to greet him. Another first, and for his final return from space, it was by far his _worst_. Lucille always knew when he was going to be home, and always made sure to be there – with their sons in tow if she could wrangle it. She wasn't here this time, but he already knew that. His time on Alfie had been slashed short by a message trickled through the cosmos until it reached him.

_Your wife's dead._

Three words. Three horrible, _horrible_ words. It was lucky that Lee had been there with him, for once the voice of reason that held him back from trying to space walk the whole way back to Earth himself. Most likely without his helmet, a forgotten piece of necessary equipment in the shock. Jeff had ended up sobbing in his friend's arms for hours when it had properly sunk in.

Lucille was dead. His beautiful wife, the mother of his five precious sons, the most brilliant star he'd ever seen. _Avalanche_. Messages from Earth to the Moon tended to be direct and to the point. Less to get lost in translation that way, although Jeff wished it was just a mistranslation.

_Your wife's dead. Avalanche. Sons alive._

It was the last two words that had stopped him from walking outside without his helmet, regardless of Lee's attempts to stop him. His boys, his five wonderful boys, had had their mother torn from them. Who was with them? Who was stopping Scott from playing parent more than he already did while their father was off gallivanting around in space? He'd promised Lucille this was the last time, that he was ready to settle down on Earth so that Alan, at least, could grow up with both his parents always around. She'd never begrudged him his adventures, but one son, she'd demanded. _One_ son, he would watch grow up day by day, and not a couple of months a year.

So much for any of their sons growing up with _both_ parents. At the sign that he'd be home indefinitely, the world had decided to strip their mother from them, instead. His poor, poor boys.

Were they injured? _Alive_ left so much potential. Had they been caught in the avalanche as well? Swept down the mountainside and jumbled all the way into a hospital?

When had it happened? There was no date, no way of knowing how quickly he'd been informed – and it had been three weeks since the message got through before they could launch a shuttle to bring him home.

Thankfully, his superiors didn't bother with the usual tedium of a debrief when he staggered into Earth and one G gravity again. They held him back only long enough for the mandatory physical assessment – "don't terrify your kids by collapsing on them, Tracy," – and hacked through all of the red tape until he was free to go, and then personally ensured he made it to his front door.

His mother's car was on the drive. An old thing he was sure had been ancient when she'd first acquired it, long before Jeff had ever _met_ Lucille, it gave him the breath of air he needed. Mom was here. His boys were alright. They _had_ to be – she'd never leave any of them alone in a hospital. Whatever had happened, his sons hadn't been abandoned.

What was the etiquette for arriving home after months away? Did he open the door and stroll straight in, or should he knock and announce his presence? It had never been a concern for him before, with Lucille always by his side when he came home, gripping his elbow as though he'd fall over if she didn't personally hold him up.

Then again, he had, the first time.

He felt like he might again, and it was that thought that had him pushing the door open and stumbling through.

"Mom?" he called. The door was unlocked – she was definitely in. What day was it? It was early afternoon, but were the boys at school or was it a weekend?

" _Dad_?"

Well, that answered that question. He stumbled into the sitting room to meet startled blue eyes, inherited from the boy's grandmother. Scott was sat on the couch, somewhat stiffly, with his laptop on his lap and headphones discarded carelessly on the cushions.

"Scott!" Unsteady on his feet, it was more of a controlled collapse than anything else onto the couch beside him, pulling his eldest into his arms. There was no protest, no squawk that he was too old for that – or even that his laptop had been dislodged by the sudden embrace. All the signs of a rebellious teenager starting to find his own place in the world that had been showing just before he'd left were gone, leaving behind a child.

"Dad," Scott gasped into his crumpled shirt, hands balling into fists against his back as he returned the embrace almost as fiercely. "D-Dad."

"I'm here," he mumbled, resting his cheek on top of his son's head and clutching him tightly, hearing quiet, desperate gasps. "Dad's home." There were tears in his eyes, prickling uncomfortably and spilling down his cheeks. He would have been embarrassed, normally, but Scott was sobbing into his chest as well, and they'd _both_ lost someone they loved more than life itself.

He couldn't help but notice, however, that the commotion they were making failed to draw any more young boys – or their grandmother – to the room. His mother hadn't responded to his call, either.

"Where are your brothers?" he asked Scott after a moment. "And your grandmother?"

Scott drew back slowly, and Jeff loosened his hold enough that they could face each other properly, but didn't let go entirely. His eldest didn't fight for his freedom, and indeed still had his shirt in his fists.

"School," he said. "It's Wednesday, Dad. Grandma's collecting Alan from playgroup."

"I see," he sighed, moving to pull him closer again before a thought struck him.

"If it's a Wednesday, why aren't _you_ at school?"

Scott promptly buried his head in his shirt again, clinging to him with a fervour that unmistakably said _I don't want to talk about it._

Jeff let him keep his silence, instead shifting around until he had his eldest son firmly situated in his lap. Fourteen or not, he was still his son, and if he was out of school – no doubt his grandmother's call – then there was something very wrong. Jeff only hoped it was the obvious, and not something else on top of Lucille's death. For his part, Scott didn't protest to being treated like a much younger child; if anything he clung even tighter.

The door opened and he turned his head to see his mother walking in, a small blond toddler with blue eyes at her heels. Little Alan had grown up so fast, just like all of his brothers before him.

"Jeff!" Gentle hands cupped his face, before pulling him – and consequently, the son on his lap – into an embrace. "Oh, Jeff."

"Mom," he choked out, vaguely noticing Scott wriggling free and slipping away. "Mom, I-"

She hushed him, stroking his hair as he tried and failed to stop more tears. He didn't want to break down in front of two of his sons, but the dam had been once again breached and much like Scott had been sobbing into his chest minutes earlier, he sobbed into his mother's shoulder.

There were no platitudes she could offer him, nor did she try. The relief at seeing two of his sons, and the implication that the other three were also unharmed, only went so far in easing the pain at Lucille's loss.

Knowing that two of his sons were in the room helped him to regain control, if not composure, however. They needed him to be strong for them, so with some effort he pulled away from his mother and turned around to find that Scott had sat down on the floor next to Alan and was distracting him with a toy car.

"Scott didn't say why he's not at school," he commented quietly, watching the pair of them. "Did something happen?"

His mother gave an unhappy sigh that immediately concerned him.

"I pulled him from campus classes for the time being," she said. "He's been enrolled in the online classes instead." Jeff glanced over at the ignored laptop, tilted on its side, and saw something that looked like math.

"Why?"

"It took me five days to get here," she confessed quietly, and Jeff swallowed. His boys had been alone for five days. He knew them well enough to know that Scott would have stepped up as parent, but he shouldn't have had to. Not at _fourteen._ "A severe snow storm had me trapped, and when I finally got here I found out that Scott's so-called _friends-_ " she all but sneered the word "-had taken offence to him quitting the basketball team and instead of bothering to find out why, decided the mature thing to do was to take the aggressive approach."

" _What_?" The word got strangled in his throat and came out as an enraged hoarse whisper rather than the shout it meant to be. It was still enough to catch Scott's attention, although when the teenager realised they were looking at him he quickly turned his gaze back to Alan, who was making rocket noises to accompany his car. "He was being _bullied_? Straight after Luci-"

His voice choked up completely.

"I took the matter up with the principle," she assured him. "All four boys responsible have been suspended and put on community service for a month. Mr Atkins made it clear that he takes bullying very seriously." She sighed again, but there was an angry glint behind her purple glasses. "Scott is also housebound on doctor's orders for at least another month."

Jeff's eyes widened and he focused on his son again, still distracting Alan even though it was clear he was listening to their conversation. He'd thought his sons had escaped injury, but was that not the case? How about the other three?

He asked as such, and got a sad smile.

"None of them were hurt in the avalanche," she promised him. "They all walked away from that physically fine, if very shaken. No, it's the fault of those horrible boys. Most of the bruising has faded, but he still has cracked ribs and mild internal bruising from their attacks."

Jeff couldn't listen to anything more, not then. He left his mother on the couch and stumbled down to the floor with his sons. Alan regarded him with wide eyes before scrambling into his lap, rocket-noise car abandoned, in search of a big hug, which Jeff was more than happy to provide.

Next to him, Scott was rigid again, and Jeff remembered enough of his own adventures with broken ribs to recognise the accompanying discomfort. He remembered the crushing hug he'd given the boy when he'd first seen him, and winced. Scott hadn't made any attempt to stop him – had seemed desperate for the physical contact – but he must have been hurting.

"I'm proud of you," he said, freeing one arm from Alan to carefully loop it around his eldest's shoulders. "I'm sure you can call school a wrap for today." Scott still didn't meet his eyes, but leaned into his touch again.

"Thanks, Dad," he mumbled.

"Dad!" Alan echoed, all toothy grin.

"Dad!" was the same call he got two hours later, when his final three boys came home and wasted no time in demanding a group hug, all of them noticeably mindful of Scott.

Dad. He still had that. His wife might be gone from the mortal plane – although he had no doubts that she'd be watching them from the stars – but he still had his sons, and he tightened his hold on all five of them.

As long as he had them, he could keep going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic's been a bit of an experiment, perhaps more so than the others, but I've still greatly enjoyed writing it and I hope you're enjoyed reading it, too. I'll be back with the fifth and final sense tomorrow, so see you then!
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> Tsari

**Author's Note:**

> Back again with the next response to Gumnut's tumblr challenge SensorySunday - this time it's the sense of Taste. Exploring a slightly different line than the previous installments, although this is also the one I've had planned out the longest, so we'll see what happens.


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